


A Nose of Confusion

by KibblerEars



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternative Sexuality, Biologically Beta Tony, I'm not actually sure how to tag this, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, Trans-omega Tony, alpha!Phil, kind of anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KibblerEars/pseuds/KibblerEars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His momma used to tell him, back when he was a young unknowing pup, that he just had to find the right omega. Just had to wait for the right scent to catch his nose - then all his silly scent worrying nonsense would fade away and everything else would just fall into place as nature and instincts dictated. </p><p>He knew from the start she was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Nose of Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> A companion drabble to [ To Be (Not So) Broken](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3515609).
> 
> Unbeta'd and thumbtapped on my phone so I apologize in advance if there's any errors!

Omegas reeked. Their scent practically drowned your nose and overwhelmed your every sense whether you wanted it to or not. As if everything good in the world had been shoved together to create a dizzying and nauseating stench that never stopped. 

Alphas stank. Like the clichéd unwashed hippies who claimed washing and soap were bad for the soul. Like laundry worn too often. Like something dead or foul. 

But betas. Oh. Betas had a nice background smell - like fresh cut grass or cooking food or rain and ozone, simple subtle scents that barely made Phil's nose twitch when he caught them. They were pleasant and light and he could scent betas for days. 

The problem, though, was that despite the fact he found betas to be the most pleasing scent wise, he wasn't attracted to betas as a gender. He was omegasexual through and through. If only he could stand to mate an omega. 

His momma used to tell him, back when he was a young unknowing pup, that he just had to find the right omega. Just had to wait for the right scent to catch his nose - then all his silly scent worrying nonsense would fade away and everything else would just fall into place as nature and instincts dictated. 

He figured out early on it was easier to just smile and nod along with Sophia Coulson rather than argue the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to handle the scent just as surely as he knew he preferred omegas. 

By the time he was eighteen, he just didn't bother looking for a mate at all. 

By the time he was twenty, he gave up completely and dedicated his life to first the Green Rangers, then to Nicholas Fury, and then to S.H.I.E.L.D. 

After all, what use was a mate when you were busy saving the world day in and day out and might not even make it home alive? 

\--

"Cheese, get the hell out of my office and go get your rut off somewhere else." The one order Phil never listened to. 

\--

"Hey, did you see the omega Rollins scored last night? Bet she was a little firecracker in the sack, all lips and legs. And her tits, wouldn't be surprised if he didn't knot those too while he was at it," Rumlow was chattering away way too loud to some fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent as he pushed past them on his way to his office where he intended to lock himself away until the urge to rut had fled him. 

He still had to suppress the urge to growl and snarl that maybe Rumlow should just bend over and present for Rollins already if he was that interested in his damn sex life enough to broadcast it to everyone. 

\--

"Barton's in heat. He's requesting you." The phone call was short. Curt. 

Phil didn't bother answering it. He just gathered Barton up from the medbay, carted him home, and locked the omega in his den with a couple knotting dildos, cleaning cloths, water bottles, and protein bars. 

He plugged his nose with toilet paper and tried desperately not to wretch from the overpowering scent hanging, clawing in the air. 

\--

The Black Widow doesn't have a scent. 

Later, he'll learn she also can't scent others. It's the only thing from her days in the Red Room that he envies. 

\--

Pepper Potts is a no-nonsense beta with a no-nonsense scent to match. It's a refreshing change after being stuck on an op in Belize with two bratty and territorial Alphas in a tiny one-room safe house for two weeks.

Happy Hogan has the stench of an Alpha but it's actually overshadowed by Pepper's scent which makes Phil idly curious about their actual relationship. 

For all that he's touted for being Fury's good eye, he completely misses Tony Stark's scent the first time they meet. When he looks back on it, he'll blame the hustle and bustle of the crowded press room for that. 

\-- 

The second time he meets Tony, he's struck by the thought that his mother was right all along.

Except all the files and Tony's history say point blank he's a beta. 

Clearly his nose is just temporarily broken. Because there's no way the genius beta would smell like such a good omega. There's also no precedence to suggest that Phil would randomly want to mark himself in the sharp oil and metal, aged whiskey and sunshine scent that is Tony Stark, even if Tony was an omega. 

He chalks it up to the arc reactor and the palladium poisoning messing with Tony's scent and leaves it at that, doing his job with his well-known efficiency and diplomacy, leaving Stark Industries behind to immerse himself deep within the dessert in New Mexico. 

\--

The world ends in New York City, which, as Phil lays bleeding on the hard metal of the Helicarrier, he muses that it means Sitwell won their rather morbid bet about where the world would end.

As his vision goes black, he realizes it's not the whole world that's ending. 

It's just his.

His world has blown up around him in a flare of pain and blue energy, and here he is, in his worst suit, a single forty-odd year old Alpha, and absolutely nothing but his super secret spy career to show for it all. 

Wow, born a loser, die a loser, Coulson, he thinks to himself as he, coughs up more blood and absently wonders if Fury will be furious with him about messing up his cell block floor. 

Then there's nothing. 

\--

Tahiti is warm. His masseuse is questionable and doesn't always look the same. His skin is sticky and tacky with sweat. His limbs hurt. His head feels like it's going to explode and he's convinced he's missing something. 

It's a magical place

Tahiti sucks. 

\--

Suddenly he's no longer in Tahiti, he's surrounded by a new team, the world once again falling down around them, and as he watches the Mandarin broadcast, listens to the S.H.I.E.L.D. reports about Iron Man, the only thing he can think of is hot metal, sunshine, aged whiskey, and the dark skin of a genius billionaire covered in his Alpha bite. 

\--

S.H.I.E.L.D. falls, friend and foe near impossible to distinguish. Fury is gone - but not dead. Of course not. And suddenly he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Still, at least Rumlow got what was coming to him. Even if Rollins didn't make it out alive. 

There'll be time for a personal life later, he tells himself. It's the first time he's thought that in years. 

\--

He's fifty years old. His ruts have always been handled with crisp decorum and professional paperwork. He's never had a date or a relationship. He's an Alpha who can't stand the scent of an omega. 

He's fifty years old and the Director of a secret organization that is rebuilding itself from the ground up. 

He's fifty years old, with his momma's voice in his ear saying he just needed the right one. 

He's fifty years old and fidgeting like an Alpha on his first date after popping his knot for the first time. 

He's fifty years old and he's smiling at the only omega he's ever wanted to court. 

He's fifty years old and holding out a delicate but sturdy silver and gold bracelet to Tony Stark, who is looking at him with the most heartbreaking yet awestruck look he's ever seen, and telling Phil he doesn't need omega jewelry. 

Phil just smiles as he wraps the bracelet around Tony's wrist, lifting his knuckles to kiss them, gentle, possessive, hopeful, caring. 

"A traditional omega courting gift for my intended omega. If you'll have me, Mister Stark." 

The smile Tony gives him will make his heart - far too old for a young Alpha's romantic game - skip multiple beats in his chest every time he thinks of it. 

He's fifty years old and he's finally found his mate.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Be (Not So) Broken](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3515609) by [ParkerStark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParkerStark/pseuds/ParkerStark)




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